Repetition
by AsWeAreNow
Summary: Saying things too much renders them useless. Saying them too little has the same effect. These two statements mean that Britain is an unlucky bastard. Revolutionary War, and the next time Britain and America meet. A wee thing, partly inspired by Phil Kaye's 'Repetition'.


_"America, I'm so happy to see you!" _

_"Oh, America, I'm so glad to see you!" _

_"I'm so happy to see you, America!" _

_"I'm happy to see you too, America!" _

They say that if you say the same words too much, they'll finally give up their meaning. Britain learned it the hard way.

(Linebreak.)

_"America!" _

_"America!" _

_"America!" _

_They stood, staring each other down. America's eyes narrowed, as though he believed Britain would kill him just to be spiteful, for he would surely lose to America's army. Just to take them both down. _

_"America." _

_America flinched in recognition, as if to say, "Yes, that is in fact my name."_

_America was staring at his face, studying him for any sort of expression, any slip of expression or a tip off that Britain was about to shoot. That's what Britain thought, anyway._

_America was actually studying Britain's face just in case he never got to again. And also, of course, just to see it. It wasn't like he would be allowed to stare at anything else, or else one of the others would scold him._

_He wanted to save Britain's expression for when he felt better. Everyone told him he'd feel way better once he'd beaten Britain, but he didn't even feel close. He felt a bit nauseous, actually. His legs were shaking. He hoped Britain didn't notice that he was so pathetic. _

_Britain was worse._

Is this what it's like to hold a gun? _America thought. _No_, he reasoned. He'd held plenty of guns before—_

_"America."_

_America wasn't paying attention to Britain. Not enough, anyway. He was trying to focus too hard and, oh god, why couldn't he focus why was he focusing on focusing this was _not _focusing what was wrong with him—_

Calm down. You're the one with the army.

_America took a deep breath. "Why can't you just leave me alone? I don't want to be your colony, or your brother, or _anything! _I'm not your child, and you're not my father. You're n—,"_

_And then Britain charged, ramming into America full-force. America fell. He closed his eyes, waiting for Britain to inevitably shoot him, because that's what it was, inevitable. For just a brief second, he thought, _good, the words didn't feel so great anyway, _he felt weak when he said them, and now that he thought about it he supposed there would never, ever be a better—_

_America opened his eyes. He heard a dull thud. His weapon had fallen, plenty of feet away, too many feet away, and he was going to die. "Stand," Britain commanded. _

_America would do no such thing. His final act of rebellion._

_"Stand!"_

_And so he did. Britain pointed his weapon again._

_And that was when America knew that he would definitely be dead. Like, really, really, forever dead. He recoiled instinctively, but where was he supposed to go?_

_He hoped it didn't hurt._

_Even worse, what if Britain maimed him? He wouldn't put it past Britain. America would be pathetic, absolutely _useless—

_"I can't do that. You know that."_

_Britain dropped his weapon at America's feet, which was dangerous because, in case Britain had forgotten, it had a fucking knife attached to it. "I couldn't ever shoot you either. I know you think I wouldn't mind killing you, but I would." And with that, Britain fell. _

You say something often enough and it loses its meaning.

(Linebreak.)

_"America, get back here this instant!"_

_"America, get back here this instant!"_

_"America, if you don't come back _right now, _I swear, I'll— I'll—,"_

_It was pouring. Britain tried to focus on the rain. America said nothing. He stared at Britain for a moment, snorted, and then started to walk away. "America! Come back! Please!" It didn't sound nearly as mean as every other time Britain had ever yelled at him._

_America paused. Sure, Britain _sounded _nice, but early on, when he'd sounded nice, America had mistaken commands for pleas and had left him alone, and that—_

_And that did not matter anymore. What was Britain going to do without his army? Nothing. America kept walking._

They say that if you say things too little, they don't matter. Not at all.

(Linebreak.)

America was having a pretty good day. London was prettier than he remembered.

Then again, he'd only been there once, when he'd had to go to court. He'd had to get Britain to bale him out, and Britain had given him an earful— "_You shouldn't be encouraging this type of behavior!_" And then he'd hit America, but America was fairly certain that it was well worth it.

Anyway, London was prettier than he remembered. He was kind of hoping Britain wasn't there, and he knew that was bad since they were at war and everything but still.

The first person he saw was France. So he went and talked to France for awhile.

France stared just beyond America's shoulder, at something that was behind him. "Oh, look, it's the English fuckface," France grumbled. He smiled at America, almost worriedly. "It's been awhile, yes?"

And suddenly, Britain was in America's line of sight. He looked at America, eyes widening. "America!" He called out. "America!"

America just stared. "We should go inside," he mumbled.

(Linebreak.)

Britain was completely different when they went inside. There were no formal introductions, no, "Hey, buddy, it's been awhile," or any of that. They didn't even say hello.

They just launched straight into the Meeting. France and China caught America up and then America shared his idea— that he would take over for them, and everyone else could just back him up.

Britain was clearly devastated by his former colonies' newfound lack of mental capacity.

They bickered. Yes, America and Britain managed to bicker as if they'd been doing so all along, as if they'd actually talked to each other instead of letting the years grow between them.

Still, after the meeting, Britain caught up with him. America wanted to leave. It wasn't like he hated Britain or anything— the meeting had just been draining and he wanted to go home.

"America! America!" Britain called out.

America didn't stop. He didn't slow down. He kept going.

"America," Britain gasped. "I was wondering... do you want to get lunch with me?"

America really, really didn't want to, but he didn't have anything better to do. "Yeah. Sure. Of course."

Britain grabbed his elbow. America tensed, but didn't say anything. He didn't even shrug Britain off. _Be the hero. You're brave, aren't you? _

They walked to a restaurant.

They sat down in a booth. Britain had long since let him go, and for that America was thankful. They sat without saying anything for awhile.

The first person to break the silence was Britain, who said, "America, I'm so happy to see you again. I just wish it wasn't like this."

America looked at him, surprised, and the first thing that came out of his mouth was, "Neat." He immediately regretted it, but he couldn't take it back.

Britain was thinking that he was a bloody fool.

America tried not to think at all.

They were silent until the waiter came to take their order, and then they talked as if there had never been any history between them at all.

Neither of them had known that a fresh start could hurt so much.

**I tried to stick closely enough to the Revolutionary War scene. A review would be greatly appreciated. Have a good day. Cheers. **


End file.
